The Crickets Have Arthritis
by deadshimizu
Summary: A short AU with Ruby and Blake based off of a spoken word by the same name


I was there because of protesting, but that doesn't matter. People started beating me to the ground in a fit of ignorance. It didn't matter that they hooked me up to some thing that buzzed and beeped like a timebomb ready to explode my insides.

It doesn't matter that I was curled up and barely moved from that spot. Or that every book was either generic or tragic, or that I was either always too hot or too cold.

Doesn't matter because my hospital roommate wears cookie pajamas, and she's nine years old. Her name is Ruby, and I don't need to ask what she's got, the bald head and near-visible bones speak for her.

The feather pillow and DS stand out like they're trying to help her feel at home, because she's going to stuck here awhile. And y'know I manage a smile the first time I speak to her but it feels like the biggest lie I've ever told, so I keep holding my breath because I'm afraid any moment now she's going to call me out on it.

I hold my breath because I'm terrified of a 56 pound girl hooked up to every machine she can be, because she's been watching me and maybe I've been analyzing her all wrong like, maybe she's bionic or some shit.

So I look away. I look away like I just made eye contact with a guard at a protest with a baton as heavy as a list of mistakes the politicians around here have made. I look away like she's going to give my life back the second I have a story to trade. I damn near pull out a pack and say, "Cigarette?"

But my fear subsides when I learn that Ruby is all... show and tell. She's got everything from bullet shells to teddy bears and she can put them all in context like:

"See this from my sister and see this from a weird girl."

I watched her tiny hands curl around a necklace and a blanket and I realize that every thing is treasure, and all her treasures have stories and every time I think she's got nothing left she hits me with another story.

She says "See this from my Uncle, see this is from my mama, see this from sis ,see this from that weird girl."

It took me no more than two days to figure out, that the weird girl was her best friend. A young girl about 11 with long white hair and scared eyes. It took Ruby about two hours after she left to realize she missed her.

She and Ruby's sister visit every day, well past visiting hours. That term doesn't even apply to them. But when they do leave Ruby and I are left alone, and she says "The worst part about being sick, is that you get all the free sweets you ask for."

And she says "The worst part about that is realizing that's all they can do for you." She says, "Sweets can't make everything okay!"

There's no easy way of asking and I know how she'll answer, but maybe she just needs to hear herself say it anyway so I ask her, I ask her "Are you scared?"

Ruby doesn't even lower her voice when she says "Fuck yeah."

I listened to a nine year old say fuck like an asthmatic 31 year old man running from wolves she's got a right to it. If it takes this kid a curse word to get through it then I want to teach her every curse I know like the devil themself is sitting there taking notes in blood. But before I can forget that Ruby is nine she says, "Please don't tell my sister."

She asks me one day if I believe in angels, and thinking back to the protests, I say "Not lately." And I lay there, waiting, just waiting for her to hate me.

But she doesn't know how, so she never does.

Ruby loves so unconditionally I think she's one of the greatest people in the world people need to learn from a nine year old girl playing with teddy bears. She never greets me with an angry face, only smiles and a patience I've never seen in someone who knows they're dying.

I'm trying so hard not to remind her 'cause I'll be out of here in a couple days getting beat down again and throwing my life away. But she'll still be planted in that bed, like a tree prevented from growing.

I've been with her for five days and I'll I know is that Ruby loves to pull feathers from her pillow and watch them fall to the ground. Almost as if she's the philosopher inside the scientist saying "It's gravity getting us down."

So I tell her, "There's not enough miracles to go around kid and too many people are petitioning God for the winning lottery number. For every answered prayer there's a cricket, with arthritis."

She replies, in a small voice "And we can't find the answers because the search party didn't invite us?"

I nod, she looks down. I whisper, "And right now baby girl the crickets have arthritis." She doesn't reply.

But I swear to whatever God I can find, I'm going to remember you kid. I'm going to tell your story as often as every story you told me and I'll say, I'll say "See, there is bravery in this world."

I don't often believe in angels, but the morning I left Ruby pulled another feather from her pillow and said "This is for you." I almost expected her to say:

"See, this is the first one I grew."


End file.
